accordance
by naggingGargoyle
Summary: Before Rose Quartz and the battles on Earth, rebellion, for Pearl, was an unauthorized turning of the page of an opened book, a glance at the screen flickering behind her back, a conversation without the mandate of service. [sequel to plurality]


**Note:** This is a sequel/companion piece to my other homeworld pearl fic, _plurality_. It's probably not necessary to read it, but you could if you want. It's very short.

 **Warning** for slavery and general homeworld horribleness.

* * *

It's not very hard to pick some things up, as a pearl. Other gems talk freely around them. Because pearls are known to be uninterested in any matters of politics or technical knowhow or anything at all. Pearls are known to be discreet. It's taken for granted that even if they can pay attention, they won't. And if they listen, they wouldn't understand. And if they understand, there's still nothing they can do with it.

And so it isn't very difficult for pearls to learn, if they want to. And Pearl very desperately wants to.

Pearl has always taken every opportunity she gets to absorb any scrap of knowledge thrown her way. An old book left open on a desk; a screen turned on while she stands, looking prestigious, behind her owner; a dozen discarded blueprints of a project her owner is working on. And it's true that there hasn't been anything she could with this knowledge, anybody she could share it with, before.

But she does now.

She runs into her coworker in an empty hallway on her way to her owner's chambers. She's immediately filled with a warm, affectionate feeling that's still unfamiliar enough to make her jumpy and thrilled.

"Hey, fancypants," her coworker – no, her friend – greets her, looking hopeful. "Midday tomorrow. Tertiary repair hub. You'll make it?"

Pearl holds her breath, resists the urge to glance over her shoulder, and nods.

Her friend smiles. She looks relieved, and happy, and excited. Pearl wants to touch her in some small way, in reassurance, or something like camaraderie, maybe. But it's not her place to reassure, she doesn't have the power or the authority for it, and she's already been conspicuous enough. They both have a job to do. Pearl nods again and takes a step back, and her friend turns on her heel and leaves.

Pearl is distracted for the remainder of the evening and all through the next morning. She tries very hard to focus, to keep her expression blank and appear eager to receive orders at the same time, but she's filled with anticipation and anxiety and a dangerous sense of agency, and she doesn't know how to suppress it all. Her lips keep twitching unless she forces them into a rigid smile, and her movements are too quick and jerky, and she's sure some of the storm in her head must show on her face, because when she brings her owner the report stream she'd requested, she gives Pearl a look that lasts a little too long, and Pearl has to bow and mumble something about a holo surface she forgot to clean so she can make an escape.

At midday she slips out unnoticed, shaking like a faulty recording, ready to be caught and terminated with every step she takes. The tertiary repair hub isn't out of bounds for her, she keeps reminding herself. She's been there many times. She's been assigned chores there on multiple occasions. She's even fixed things there, unauthorized, before. She's not required right now. If she's free to stand unmoving and silent next to a wall, surely she should also be free to go to an unoccupied tool shed and… talk, just a little bit, with other, similarly unoccupied pearls.

But of course, none of that really matters at all, and she knows, just as her friend does, that if they are caught, they would not be allowed to offer any such excuses. And so Pearl shakes and fidgets and almost bites her lip raw, and makes her way to the repair hub, anyway. As strong as her fear is, there's something in her, something that's been set in motion, that's rather stronger.

The tertiary repair hub is a small, crammed and poorly ventilated room in a rarely utilized area of the station; an altogether underwhelming and pragmatic place to commit sedition. Not that that is what this is, Pearl tells herself firmly as she reaches the hub. Not at all. This is… something else. Something important and scary and irresistible, but not quite as much as that. Pearl opens the door, hand slick with nervous sweat

Her friend is there, along with two other pearls whom she's never spoken to. One of them is wearing the stiff, high collared, brass buttoned garb of the command's personnel. She must be one of the station's resident emerald's servants. A sympathetic chill runs through Pearl. Belonging to a minor aviation project director is stressful enough for her. She can't imagine how terrifying it would be to serve a station commander.

All three pearls are holding various damaged pieces of equipment, and as soon as Pearl enters the room, they stop talking, jump apart, and start fiddling with their broken gear. It's all extremely unconvincing.

"Oh, hello," Pearl says quietly, somewhere between amused and terrified. "It's just me."

The pearl in the stiff shirt looks ready to cry. "Thank the diamonds. I don't even know if I'm holding this thing right."

She isn't, and Pearl gently tells her so. "You all look a little… suspicious," she admits.

"We should take turns keeping watch," says the third pearl in the room, who is wearing a nondescript dress – she might belong to another project supervisor, or some low-level diplomat, perhaps.

"I'll take the first one," Pearl's friend volunteers. As she passes by pearl, she leans in, and whispers, "I'm glad you're here."

Pearl looks at her, speechless, and can only manage a nod.

What are they doing? Four frightened, disobedient pearls holding a clandestine meeting to… what? Have a little chat? They're completely out of their depth. They're not equipped for this. Even if they don't get caught, even if they get away with this, they'll have accomplished exactly nothing.

But her friend gives her a little smile, and brushes her shoulder as she goes, and Pearl knows with absolute certainty that no matter what happens, or doesn't, she doesn't want out. More than she's ever wanted anything, she wants to be here in this tiny repair hub right now.

Pearl picks up the broken transistor her friend left behind, and sits down next to the other two pearls.

"Two weeks ago, I heard my owner talk to the redistribution director," the pearl in the dress is saying. "She said two… two soldiers accidentally fused outside of battle. I don't know what happened to them. She sent me out of the room after that."

Pearl feels her eyes widen. Her breath catches. "I didn't know that was possible," she says.

"It's possible," the stiff uniformed pearl says quietly. "I've seen it."

They both turn to stare at her intently. The pearl sighs. "They say it's very dangerous. I shouldn't be talking about it. If my master knew…" She shivers. "But I saw them. Her. While she was fused." She leans forward, lowers her voice further. Pearl draws closer, compelled by a force beyond resistance. "She looked happy," the pearl whispers, low and meaningful. "She looked so, so happy."

Everyone knows that fusion is dangerous, difficult, sometimes even painful for its practitioners. Everyone knows it should only be used in life-threatening situations, and even then only if authorized. To talk about it like this – like something legitimate in itself, even positive, like it's a _person_ – it's ludicrous, mutinous. But Pearl can't help believing her; can't help wanting very badly for her to be right. Because it sounds so appealing. So strangely, intoxicatingly hopeful.

They talk about other conversations they've heard, things they've seen. They talk about their owners, haltingly, nervously, even daring to be gently, cautiously critical. It's the most exhilarating, dangerous, cathartic thing Pearl has ever done.

As the possession of an aviation expert, Pearl's had significantly greater opportunities to learn about the various tools in the hub and how to use them. She teaches the other two some of the things she'd picked up, feeling giddy and powerful in a way she'd never imagined she could. The uniformed pearl tells them about things that are happening in other stations, political things, things none of them are supposed even to be able to understand; the pearl in the dress, whose owner is a retired warrior, shows them some hand-to-hand drills and corrects their stances.

And Pearl realizes she was completely wrong. They aren't accomplishing _nothing_ , not even close. They're accomplishing something extraordinary; the very thing their owners are scared of.

"I'll take the next watch," Pearl says finally. She still has time before her evening duties, and she wants to give her friend time to experience this, too.

Her friend is standing blandly near the entrance, looking like any off duty pearl staying out of the way. She doesn't look watchful or nervous. Pearl admires her skill. She herself has never been able to pretend that way.

Pearl walks up to her, drawing close. "I'm glad I'm here, too," she whispers in her ear, and hesitantly touches her hand, with just the tips of two fingers.

Her friend smiles, looks at Pearl for a while, and slowly, slowly, winds her arms around Pearl's back, gently pulling her into a loose embrace. Pearl inhales a sharp breath, lifts her badly shaking arms, and hugs her friend back.

Well. Maybe not just her friend, anymore; her comrade, too.


End file.
